


A Spoonful of Sugar

by Euterpein



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group I [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Comedy, Dirty Talk, Ineffable Nonsense, M/M, Post-Canon, Pretend Illness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Aziraphale insists he's come down with a cold, angel or no.Crowley thinks he might know just the thing...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group I [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937917
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	A Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If people were meant to be nude, they would have been born this way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649241) by [anthony_crowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthony_crowley/pseuds/anthony_crowley). 



> This work was created for the Do It With Style Events Server BT Telephone game!

“You’re being _absolutely_ ridiculous, angel.”

Aziraphale looked up at him from where he was propped up on the bed, rather cheerily for someone in the position he was claiming to be in. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dear boy. It happens to the best of us, you know. Nothing to be done but soldier on.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You’re an _angel_ , Aziraphale. You don’t _catch cold_. Or flu, or anything else. You don’t even have an _immune system_.”

“I think it could be argued that the protection granted by our natures qualify as a--well.” He paused at Crowley’s unamused look. “I must have caught _something_. Look at me, I’m practically wasting away.” He did his level best to look pathetic, throwing one arm over his forehead dramatically and bullying his expression into something suitably waifish, though considering the healthy angelic glow he emitted at all times this did little more than make him look like he had eaten something rather unpleasant. At least the horribly outdated victorian nightgown added something to the performance.

Crowley rolled his eyes again. At this rate, he was worried they were going to get stuck that way. “Angel, what is this about?” 

Aziraphale blinked, innocently. “Whatever do you mean, dear boy? I merely called to tell you I was in a bad way.”

“Right,” Crowley accepted, “except you’re _not_ in a bad way. You’re in the same way you’ve always been. You’re in an...an angel-y way. Or something.”

Aziraphale pouted, huffing. “Well, if you didn’t believe me, why did you come rushing over, then?”

That made Crowley shuffle on his feet. “Er--well, I had to make sure, didn’t I? Couldn’t risk you catching some angelic thing Heaven cooked up or something.”

“I...see.” Aziraphale’s eyes softened in a way that Crowley had to look away from, even now. “Well. Since you’ve so gallantly rushed to my side and found my affliction wanting, I suppose I’ll just...see it through by myself.”

Crowley wrinkled his brow, not quite understanding. “What d’you mean?

“They say rest is the best medicine.” Aziraphale frowned. “Or is it laughter? Do you know, I can’t quite remember. Well, you’re supposed to rest when you’re ill, anyway. I’ll just do that.”

“You? _Rest_?” Crowley didn’t bother to hide his incredulity. “You haven’t slept since the Apocalypse, angel.”

Aziraphale acknowledged the truth in that with a small nod of his head. “And it had been _quite_ a long time before that. Still, needs must.”

“Right,” Crowley said, still feeling a bit wrong-footed. “Well. Goodnight, I suppose.” He turned back towards the door of Aziraphale’s bedroom, but stopped again as Aziraphale called out to him.

“Wait!” Aziraphale’s cry sounded almost involuntary, as though it had been pulled from him. His face was rather sheepish when Crowley turned back to him. “Er--I just--before you go, perhaps you could be so good as to bring me some...soup?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Soup?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale was no longer quite meeting Crowley’s gaze. “Soup. For the--for the cold, you know.”

He felt his lips curl into a smile as the realization grew on him. “Angel,” he said, carefully, making his way slowly to the bed and perching by Aziraphale’s legs, “if you wanted me to... _take care of you_ for a while, all you had to do was _ask_.” He let a hand fall onto the swell of a blanket-covered thigh, just resting there.

Aziraphale stared at it. “I’d hate to...to impose on you,” he said, stuttering slightly.

“Hardly an imposition.” Crowley’s grin grew even wider as his hand slid slowly up Aziraphale’s thigh, pushing down slightly to emphasize the sound of skin against fabric in the quiet bedroom. “And we can’t have you left all alone when you’re...indisposed, can we?”

Aziraphale shuddered. “N-no.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to take care of you, then.” 

Aziraphale let out an adorable little “oh,” of surprise as Crowley brought their lips together, nipping and sucking at those plump pink lips until they parted sweetly for him. They both moaned as Crowley dipped his tongue into the heat of his angel’s mouth, not stopping for a moment, stealing his very breath from his lungs in the way he knew Aziraphale loved. 

One of Crowley’s hands came up and tugged at the strings holding the neckline of that ridiculous nightgown together. He pulled off his angel’s lips and tossed his sunglasses to the side, then attacked that luscious neck instead, relishing in the way Aziraphale buried his fingers in Crowley’s hair at the sensation. His fingers danced down Aziraphale’s front, dipping under the bedsheets until he found the hem of the nightgown. He pulled it up Aziraphale’s thighs, slowly, feeling the catch in the angel’s throat beneath his tongue.

“‘M gonna take such good care of you,” he said, not bothering to hide his breathless excitement. They were long past the point of that. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Crowley nipped at the sensitive skin at the junction of his shoulder, drawing out a whine from above him, and moved his hand devastatingly slowly to the place where his angel was hot and needy for him.

Suddenly, though, Aziraphale’s fingers closed around his wrist. He pulled back, scanning Aziraphale’s face, frowning at the small trace of concern he found there. “What’s up, angel? Do you want to stop?”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Stop? No, no, I was just thinking--after this, could we still...”

“Still...?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were bright red now. “Could we still have soup?”

Crowley stared at him, slack-jawed, for a moment, then managed to pull himself together with an incredulous laugh. “Yes, angel,” he said, leaning down to brush his lips against Aziraphale’s neck again. “After this, I will still bring you soup, you spoiled thing.”

“Oh!” Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face, but he didn’t need to see to know he was grinning beatifically. “ _Thank_ you.”

Crowley just rolled his eyes, and got back to work.


End file.
